


Your Happiness is Mine

by awkward_ace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian approves this behavior, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Romance, The Vint told me to, rescue clan Lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkward_ace/pseuds/awkward_ace
Summary: Clan Lavellan is under attack, and she is far, far away and unsure of how to help. She needs their help to save her family--she doesn't really care how it's done, just save them. Save them, and I will do anything you might ever ask. And all he wants is for her to smile again.





	Your Happiness is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This. Fucking. Thing. Has been in my computer for ages now. I am not completely happy with all of it, and I am thrilled with pieces of it. I can't look at it anymore, and my brain now refuses to keep fine tuning, so...it's as done as I can make it, for now. Maybe in the future this thing will get an editing, but for now, here, enjoy. I'M SICK OF LOOKING AT IT.

Save them, I need them safe in the world

_Da'len,_

_I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders, fighting ancient_ _Tevinter_ _magisters while representing your people. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it._

_Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts—but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship._

_Dareth shiral,  
Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

Pria read the message several times, her eyes getting blurry and anxiety knotting her stomach uncomfortably. “I don’t understand why…” she muttered to herself, tangling a hand in her hair, pulling faintly before setting it back on the war table and leaning heavily against it.

“I…we need to do _something_ ,” she said. “I need them safe. Please.”

Her three advisors glanced at each other.

“We…could send a representative to the Duke,” Josephine offered, “He is an ally of the Inquisition. Perhaps he can help? It is odd that he would allow bandits so near his city.”

“I disagree—these don’t sound like ordinary bandits. My people can give your people a chance to get away,” Leliana said. “Then we can investigate where these ‘bandits’ came from.”

“Both of those options are too slow,” Cullen replied. “It would be better to send a contingency of troops there—they could settle the bandit problem then and there. Minimal casualties, less can go wrong. We can investigate afterwards.”

“I don’t care what we do, but we need to _do_ something. _Now._ Just… _save them_ ,” Pria rubbed at her eyes, almost angrily, and pushed away from the table. “I need a minute.”

The elf turned and walked quickly out of the room.

Josephine bit her lip and looked at the Commander, “Your suggestion is fastest. Perhaps you should send our soldiers. Leliana and I can look into why these men are so well armed to attack a Dalish clan.”

“I’ll see to it immediately,” he replied, and quickly exited.

Leliana picked up the message, “I’ll get my scouts on this. You’re right, it is unusual that the Duke would let outlaws so close.”

“Yes—and perhaps it’s wisest to not mention this to the Inquisitor, just yet.”

“Agreed. When we know more, we can inform her.”

*****

Cullen had immediately issued orders that their soldiers nearer to Wycome should head that direction in all haste, and called on his captains for several regiments of their best soldiers to be readied and marching out the gates by the end of the day, moving on-the-double to make up for lost time. Once they were well under way, he made his way into the keep, intent on informing the Inquisitor that help was on the way to her clan.

He ran into the Tevinter mage on the way there, the man carrying a tray that held a steaming mug and a covered plate. Cullen still did not entirely trust the man—he had shown up a little too conveniently, in Cullen’s opinion, was a little too helpful. He was also unsure of how he felt about the clear, immediate kinship that had sprung up between the Inquisitor and the man; he tried very hard to convince himself that it wasn’t jealousy, especially when he saw the mage coming and going from her chambers as he pleased, at any hour, as if he belonged there.

“Ser Pavus,” he said, tone flat but civil.

Dorian turned slightly, a smile lighting his face, “Ah, Commander! Delightful as ever. I’m just taking this up to the Inquisitor—the kitchen tattled on her, said she didn’t eat dinner. Can’t have our fearless leader going ‘round on an empty stomach, can we? Did you need something?”

She wasn’t eating? Maker, those soldiers should’ve been sent faster.

“I was just going to inform the Inquisitor that we saw to her orde—her request. It should be settled within the week.”

“That nasty business with her clan?”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “She told you?” he asked, a little coolly.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Such a stormy look from you, Commander,” he chided, “Of course she told me. Why do you think I checked with the cooks to see when she’d last had sustenance today?”

Cullen felt strangely ashamed. _I should’ve thought to check that, too._

“Commander, if you’ll take a bit of advice—”

“I _do not_ need advice from _you_ —”

“ _Do_ try to get yourself together,” the mage continued blithely on, talking over him, “She’s a charming woman, and I highly doubt such a charming person will stay, how shall we say this, _available_ for long. Also, you should really practice that lying face of yours—it’s rubbish. Now, would you like me to inform her, or would you care to? She _might_ be having a bath right now, if she listened to me.”

Cullen settled for glowering at the mage. “If you would be so kind as to inform her,” he replied.

“But of course, Commander,” Dorian purred, managing to perform a slight, almost mocking bow despite holding a laden tray. “I’ll tell her first thing.”

He continued on, dropping a hand to open the door to her quarters and disappearing through it. Cullen turned on his heel and stalked back to his office, fists clenched tightly.

His feelings for the Inquisitor were hardly appropriate, hardly professional. Hardly something he dared look at most of the time, because it hurt a little too much to think about _maybe_. That didn’t stop them from existing, though, or stop him from sometimes dwelling on the _what ifs_.

*****

It…hadn’t been resolved in a week. What Cullen thought would be a quick matter turned into a complicated string of events that kept falling into the next one, one that ultimately ended up using a combination of soldier’s being thrown at noble armies, Leliana’s spies dispatching a Venatori agent _and_ clearing red lyrium from wells (was there ever going to be something that didn’t involve the damn substance?!), and Josephine’s ambassador putting on a shining performance of political tap-dancing.

Still, the Inquisitor’s clan was finally safe, the immediate threat gone, the nobles’ armies sent scampering off. Her Keeper was installed in Wycome as part of a council that was set up to govern the city after the Duke’s death, for the safety of the clan and the city residents alike.

Cullen had been worried—there had been some _very_ close calls, a few casualties, and he had watched the Inquisitor become withdrawn and tense, dark circles appearing under her pretty eyes. She had been short and clipped when speaking, and her temper was frayed and quick to flare.

He came to be grateful for Dorian’s presence during those weeks; the man had incessantly trailed her, making sure she at least ate a little something every day, that she got important messages and tended to them, got her to laugh a little with his wry humor.

He’d seen them more than once taking a turn around the yard or the battlements, Dorian’s arm tightly around the Inquisitor’s shoulders, giving a warning glance at anyone who got a little too close, steering her away from visitors that only _thought_ they needed her attention right _now_.

So it was with immense relief that the latest report finally came in, and signaled an end to the whole affair. His instincts had been right—fortifying the city and running up their banners had done the job and _encouraged_ the noble armies to make a hasty retreat back to where they belonged. He had two copies made quickly, and found a messenger to deliver the reports.

*****

_Inquisitor,_

_This was just received not half an hour ago. I have taken the liberty of informing Ambassador Montilyet and Sister Leliana, so that this could be brought to you straight away. I hope it finds you in better spirits. I know the last few weeks have been difficult for you._

_Faithfully,_

_~~Commander~~ Cullen_

_\-----_

_Commander Cullen,_

_Our troops fortified the city of Wycome and flew the Inquisition banner. It is good that we did so, as the Marchers had soldiers ready to invade the city and kill every elf inside. They were not ready to make an enemy of the Inquisition, however, and when they saw our soldiers, they pulled up short._

_The Inquisition diplomat, Lady Guinevere Volant, handled negotiations quite well. When presented with evidence of the red lyrium, which we made clear was an unholy tool of Corypheus himself, the Marchers backed down from their claims of a baseless elven rebellion and pledged to leave Wycome in peace. They have also donated generously to the Inquisition's coffers to make clear their support for our cause._

_The Inquisitor's Keeper, Istimaethoriel, has been installed along with a city elf and several human merchants, on the new Wycome City Council, which will rule the city fairly for both humans and elves alike._

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre_

Pria’s eyes prickled before a few relieved, happy tears fell, which she quickly wiped away.

_They’re alive. They’re alright. Thank the Creators._

Cullen’s answer had worked—they’d been fast enough, strong enough, gotten there in time. Her family was safe.

“I take it that there’s good news?” Dorian asked, stepping away from the book shelf and over to her. “Is it about your clan? Did we get to them in time?”

She laughed quietly, wiped her eyes again, “Yes. They’re safe. We got there in time.”

He smiled widely, hugged her tightly, “That’s wonderful, darling! Tonight, we celebrate—drink’s on me, and don’t argue, I won’t have it. Besides, you deserve a night off. All this stress isn’t healthy.”

She laughed again and returned the hug, lifting her feet slightly as the man swung her around once and set her back down.

_I need to make Leliana a massive tower of lemon cakes. And have flowers and candy put all over Josie’s office._

“You should go thank the Commander _personally_ for being so…astute, is a good word. I’ll take this,” Dorian took the message from her hand, carefully folded it back up, “And keep it safe. You, go. Run. And if anyone tries to stop you, shock them and tell them I told you to.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were encouraging me, Dorian.”

“Inquisitor, I would _never_ encourage such impropriety,” he replied haughtily, then lowered his voice to a playful, dramatic whisper, “But, seriously. _Go_.”

She smiled and kissed the mage’s cheek, squeezing his arm affectionately before doing as he bade, skipping down the stairs two at a time and darting through the great hall and rotunda to the battlements.

 

*****

Cullen looked up as the door to his office opened rather suddenly and the Inquisitor hurried inside, skidding to a halt as she took in the small gaggle of soldiers around his desk.

“Inquisitor?” he asked.

“If you would all excuse us,” she said after clearing her throat, “I need a moment to speak with my Commander.”

The soldiers glanced at him to ensure that he had nothing to add—the Commander shook his head slightly. “That will be all,” he confirmed.

The soldiers nodded, saluted, and made their way out quickly.

Cullen looked at the Inquisitor, concerned, “Is everything alright?”

She smiled, and gestured with her hand, the door shutting quietly and the locks sliding into place on all three. He blinked, felt his face heat slightly.

“Inquisitor, wha—mmf!”

She’d taken two quick steps over to him, pressed her hands against his chest, and pushed him back against the wall as she leaned up and kissed him deeply.

Cullen’s breath rushed out, his mind scrambling as it registered in pleasured surprise that she— _Pria, Maker, I want you—_ was pressed against him— _I want to be worthy of you_ —and was _kissing_ him.

Her lips were soft, warm, chapped faintly from the cold air, and fit against his wonderfully. He wished that he hadn’t put armor on this morning, wanted to feel more of her body pressed into his, the strength of her, the softness of her curves, her hips, hers breasts.

He nearly groaned in disappointment as she pulled back, missed the press of her mouth against his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He found that he was panting slightly, breathless from her, from her closeness. He cleared his throat quietly, “F-for what, exactly?”

She smiled at him, beamed at him, and he knew in that instant that he would find a way to move mountains if he had to, anything to make her smile like that at him.

“For being you. For being a wonderful man. For saving my family,” she murmured warmly, hands moving down to gently hook into his belt.

_Maker’s breath, she thinks I’m wonderful. She’s the most magnificent person to walk this earth and she thinks **I’m** wonderful._

“You’re welcome,” he replied faintly, unable to keep himself from staring at her face, at the vivid blue-violet of her eyes, the soft, sea-foamy green of her vallaslin. Her full, beautiful mouth that was flushed pink from kissing him.

Her smile widened, if possible, and she leaned back in to kiss him again, softer this time, easing her mouth against his. Cullen made a faint sound, felt his knees go weak, couldn’t resist fisting a hand in her shirt as his eyes fluttered shut, utterly melting into her.

Her kiss felt so _good_.

_I would do anything for you. I would walk into the Fade if you told me to._

He should tell her. Tell her everything about him, about the Circle, about what happened, Kirkwall, the lyrium. He should tell her before things went too far—

She bit his lip, gently, a soft nibble of her teeth, a faint tug. His breath caught.

_Oh, Maker, save me._

“Pria,” he breathed, voice husky, shaky with want, with _need_ , as she pulled back again. He ached at the loss of contact.

_More. I want more. Don’t stop, please._

Pria gently rubbed her nose against his, pressed her forehead into his. “Ma melava helani. Ma serannas, ma vhenan. Ar lath ma,” she whispered.

“What…?”

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said, “for everything.”

Her fingertips traced his jaw, his lips, making them tingle pleasantly, etched the scar that cut through them. His head tilted slightly in that direction, his hand coming up to catch hers, pressed his lips against her palm, against the glowing mark. She shivered.

“Your happiness is mine, my lady,” he replied softly.

_Kiss me again. Please, kiss me again._

She kissed the corner of his mouth instead, kissed the scar, and he felt a pang of disappointment. It would be so easy for him to tilt his head, to catch her mouth. Tangle his hands in her hair.

_I shouldn’t._

“I should let you get back to work,” she murmured, stepping back from him, leaving him still slumped back against the wall. “Thank you again, Commander. Tell me if there is ever anything you need from me.”

_I need you._

“I—yes, Inquisitor.”

She smiled at him, softly, as the locks undid themselves on the door, and she turned, walked out silently. He watched her go, everything in him screaming out for her, reaching for her, _wanting_ her in a way he couldn’t remember wanting anyone.

“Maker’s breath,” he whispered to himself shakily when she was out of sight, ran a hand through his hair, absently biting at his lower lip, catching the taste of her. Sweet honey, cinnamon. He let his head lean back and rest against the wall, hand now rubbing the back of his neck, trying to work out tension as he tried to calm his thundering heart and raging emotions.

He didn’t think he’d be getting anything else done that day. He’d be too busy remembering the press of her body against his, and how it felt to be caught up completely in the taste and feel of her kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an exercise in how the Inquisitor would've reacted, had she been able to in the game, to a good ending of rescuing clan Lavellan. Y'know, the one where everybody lives and there's a council'n'shit. Shower all three advisors with a plethora of thank yous, give the lady advisors all the sweets and pretty things they love, and give Cullen one big honkin' kiss because she's not really sure how else to express her 'thank you' to him.


End file.
